So the other day, 9 y o has obviously got to thinking. He’s so excited about the prospect there may be a sibling coming his way that sometimes I think he’ll actually burst. His only concern is whether the little person will be a boy or…a boy. Girls don’t really get a mention because apparently you ‘can’t pass all your old ‘boys stuff on to a girl’. He has few concerns apart from once his mummy does eventually have a baby in her tummy, how long it will take to actually come out…but the other day he stonkered me with a blindsider.
‘Mummy,’ he said, a little quietly. ‘Will The Vet still love me as much when the new baby comes along…?’ Now, obviously he doesn’t call him The Vet, and would very much like to call him Daddy (yes, that debate still seems to rear it’s uncomfortable little head from time-to-time) but as the members of my family possibly wish to remain nameless for the purposes of this here blog, we’ll stick to calling him The Vet. ‘Oh yes of course he will love you, maybe even more. You see, when people become parents they grow so much love in their hearts and with each new baby that comes, there comes a whole nother lot of love to go round…’
Nine y o ponders my answer for a short while and then comes back with, ‘but he wasn’t there when I was born so will he still have as much love?’ he asks, with the ever developing and inquisitive mind that lies inside the head of a boy his age. ‘Yes, he will, that I promise you,’ I tell him. ‘Have I known The Vet longer than I knew my Dad?’ he asks. ‘Well, almost, yes I guess you have,’ comes my reply. ‘Well he is really like my Dad now, aye,’ he decides. ‘Yes, you are very lucky to have two Dads that love you very much.’
Sometimes it’s not just about the needles you have to punch into your belly two times a day for a week (until you feel like a voodoo doll). And sometimes it’s not just about the emotional battle you’re facing of waiting, waiting, waiting…And sometimes it’s not just about the hormones that are raging a war inside your body and will release upon any unsuspecting victim – in my case it was the garden workman who decided it was a good idea to leer at me and yell ‘G’day darlin’ as I biked past him in my short shorts and bikini top…little did he know I was hiked up on hormones like some kind of Cowboy Fertility Junkie. He survived, fortunately for him, as I only shot him a death stare. Had he said another word, he might have copped a large tin bicycle bell up his rectum.
You see, sometimes it’s not just about your own battle…but about the other people in your life too…who so far have managed to escape relatively unscathed (though if you ask them, possibly not so much).
To all my fellow battlers – IVF or otherwise – peace, love and fluffy tickles…Love, as always, Lady Mama G xox